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Something poked me in the middle of the forehead, and I opened my eyes to see Zip pulling her finger back.
She didn’t like losing my gaze.
“I’m going to go to bed,” Mom yawned and stood up.
I glanced at her, then said, “’Night, Mom.”
She flipped me off then left the room.
Zip laughed and got out of the bed, her hands going to her hair where she started removing the ponytail that her hair was in.
I watched as it fell against her neck, shining and so fucking pretty.
“There are a few things we’re going to be talking about tomorrow,” she said as she made her way to my ensuite bathroom. “But tonight, I just want to go to bed and forget the last three weeks ever happened.”
And that was exactly what she did.
I watched her sleep for half the night before I finally was able to fall back asleep myself.
And when the morning came, she still didn’t talk to me.
Even worse, she wouldn’t even meet my eyes.
Also, no talking happened when we got up. No talking happened after we made it downstairs—every single one of my family members were glaring at me—and no talking happened on the way to my treatment.
But one thing she did do was stay.
So the hope hadn’t completely died.
She did get a phone call in the car on the way, though.
And, from what I’d deduced, it was about her first doctor appointment, because there was a lot of talk about her last period, symptoms, and if she needed to start taking specific supplements before next week.
“Okay, so Thursday at nine in the morning,” Zip said as she looked out the window, still not looking at me. “I’ll be there. Thank you.”
She hung up, and I felt my belly tighten.
Still, she didn’t say a word.
CHAPTER 22
Females will go out with anyone for free food. You’re gonna get kidnapped one day, you hungry bitch.
-Val to Zip
ZIP
After the phone call in the car, I was a nervous wreck.
Before, when I’d only just thought there could be a possibility that I was pregnant, I was okay.
But now, the thought of having a child in this day and age, with all the things wrong with this country, literally set my world to tilting on its axis.
Nash expertly backed into a spot at the back of the parking lot, so far away from the doors that I couldn’t even see them, then shut the engine off.
He stayed there for a few long seconds, and I finally looked over at him to see what had him still inside.
He was staring at his fingers, lost in thought.
Was he nervous about the chemo?
Was he worried about my being pregnant?
With me not talking to him, it wasn’t like I could very well ask.
But I desperately wanted to know.
He squeezed his hands into fists, then glanced at me.
I had enough wherewithal to drop my gaze, making it seem like I hadn’t been looking at him, trying to figure out what was wrong.
He stared at me for a few seconds, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him open his mouth, about to talk. But ultimately, he chose to stay quiet, allowing his mouth to fall shut.
He quietly exited the car, and I waited until his door closed before I bailed out of mine, making him think that I would wait for him like I usually did.
He rounded the hood just as I slid out of the truck.
He came to a stop, swallowed, and looked down at his feet.
Instantly, nausea rolled through me.
I should’ve waited.
I was being petty.
I just couldn’t stop myself from acting this way.
I was so freaking hurt by it all that it was hard to breathe through the anger and wounded pride.
I closed my door, then went to the back door of his truck and opened it.
My blanket nearly fell out, and I had to dash downward really quickly to keep it from hitting the ground.
When I stood up, I swayed, and was reminded that I’d also had bouts of dizziness that caused my vision to turn black around the edges quite a few times lately.
It was likely something I should probably mention to the doctor next week.
Before I could sway even a little bit, though, he was there, steadying me.
“Are you okay?” he rasped.
I felt a tiny shiver start to leak down my spine, but quickly steeled it and said, “Fine.”
Look at me talking to him.
Go me.
His hand disappeared, and I felt instantly bereft.
He reached over me and caught up my massive knockoff Bogg bag and pulled it to his shoulder.
I had to fight the urge to take it from him.
Another one of my issues was he’d changed so much in the last three weeks, and not in a good way.
He was gaunt looking. His eyes looked permanently bruised. His hands and arms were skinnier, almost as if he’d lost so much weight that it was staggering. And yesterday, when I’d seen him without his shirt on at the diner… he’d looked so… bad.
